I’m single. Yep, I’m a 44-year-old single woman. I have been single for a long, long time. And I probably will be for a long, long time to come. I didn’t consciously make the decision to be single, it’s more like I have just became accustomed to it.
I will be the first to admit I am hard to love. I am too much for most men to handle. I am fiercely independent, but want a boy to hold my hand. I have plenty of my own money, but my heart will melt when presented with a heartfelt gift—no matter what the cost. Sometimes I get wrapped up in a project and will forget about everything and everybody. I forget my cell phone, but go into a panic if I can’t get the boy on the phone. I am over confident, but sometimes I am paralyzed by self-doubt. I’m cool with a bologna sandwich, sweatpants and no shoes, but other times I want black tie and linen napkins. I am a barrel of contradictions.
I have recently spent a lot of time getting to know myself again. I had forgotten who I was. I have been spending time trying to figure out the balance of fun and work. I have been cooking more, spending time not being a hermit and trying not to do anything stupid. I have sat on my hands to keep myself in check.
But even tho I am strong—really strong, I still get lonely. It’s the little things I miss. I miss having someone to eat supper with. I miss simple conversation. I miss his melodies to my harmonies. I miss hearing the alarm, waking up and realizing I am not alone in a big bed. It’s been a long time since I shared a bed, or anything else with a boy, but now I might be ready to try again.
I guess I have had my heart locked up for too long and now it wants out. No one is more surprised than me. I have kept it too guarded and never revealed all of myself to anyone. Maybe that’s my major life mistake. I have never trusted enough to show myself entirely to someone. Maybe I never will. But at least now I’m ready to try.